


Westerkamp Drabbles

by long_LIV_prairies



Series: Westerkamp Verses [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/long_LIV_prairies/pseuds/long_LIV_prairies
Summary: A series of 100 word drabbles written for a challenge posted on reddit by idrelle-miocovani. Will hopefully update weekly for 20 weeks. Drabbles will be based on my characters from my main fic Neither Angels, Nor Demons, Nor Powers, and are written based on one word prompts.This is just a working title for now, so it may change in the future.





	1. Week One

**Breathe** - James

He is in pain, searing through his torso, burning in his leg. There had been a giant, then the giant’s fist. Now he is underwater, unable to breathe.

Someone hauls him up, out of the water. But the pain persists, and he still can’t breathe.

There is more pain as his bones are pulled back into place. He still can’t breathe, can’t pull air into his lungs.

“Come on, James, breathe…”

He does, finally, the first breath painful, gasping, air flowing into damaged lungs that quickly heal, each intake of air less labored than the last.

“That’s it, just breathe.”

* * *

 **Shatter** \- Cullen

He pauses when glass shatters, the sharp shards scattering around his feet, liquid seeping into the cracks in the floor. He looks ups, into the eyes of the woman before him, sitting half naked on his desk, her legs wrapped around his, her arousal coating his lips.

He was going to take her like this, standing while he drove into her, perched on that desk.

But that shattered glass gives him an idea, and he sweeps the rest of the desk’s contents to the ground. She gasps.

He drives into her from above, nestled between long legs, until she shatters.

* * *

 **Sacred** \- Cullen

He slices through a demon, then another, bashes his shield into a third as he works his way across the field, stepping over stones and fallen soldiers toward the rift.

He doesn’t know how much longer they can last.

It started with an explosion. Not this explosion that tore open the sky. No, it was the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall that started the rebellion of mages. Perhaps something needed to change, but he didn’t see how destroying a holy building was the answer.

And now another holy site had been destroyed.

Nothing was holy anymore. Nothing was sacred.

* * *

 **Night** \- Naomi

She always loved the night. Night was a time of quiet, a time of peace. Time to look at the stars.

Until it wasn’t. Until at night, when she was enjoying the stars, it became something sinister and scary, a time where she no longer felt joy, no longer felt safe.

So she avoided the night.

And then she meets him, and she no longer feels afraid. Sitting next to him, looking at these new, strange stars, the night is once again filled with peace, with quiet.

She falls in love with the night again. Falls in love with him.

* * *

 **Glow** \- Nassella

The glow wakes her, just as it has every night for the last week.

She used to sleep soundly, curled with her back pressed against her sister’s, her mother lying just an arm’s reach away, snuggled beneath furs on a hard araval floor. She would hold her hands close to her face, covering her eyes with calloused palms.

Now she sleeps alone on a shem bed in a shem cabin in a shem village, roped into fighting for a shem cause.

And the mark on her left hand glows.

She clamps the hand between her thighs and tries to sleep.


	2. Week Two

**Mark** \- Cullen

He kisses her neck, nips and suckles, tastes the salt on her skin. She is warm, soft beneath his lips, her pulse racing where he touches her. He breathes in deeply when she moans, hints of hay and elfroot and horse clinging to her skin.

He loves kissing her like this, feeling her writhe beneath his own body, all because of him.

“Did you leave a mark again?” she asks in mock annoyance when he finally pulls away, blue-green eyes smiling at him.

He looks down at her neck, now graced with a small, reddish bruise.

He smirks, pleased. “Yes.” 

* * *

 **Voiceless** \- Nassella

She stares at the women in front of her, unable to speak, barely able to think. They ambushed her, brought her in front of everyone with no warning.

And they asked her to lead.

She doesn’t understand why. She is just an elf. Why would they want _her_?

Because she had been willing to die for them all.

Because she had already been leading them.

And she may be an elf, but being an elf did not mean she was less, did not mean she could not lead.

Finally, she finds her voice, extends her hand.

“Alright… I’ll do it.”

* * *

 **Cry** \- Naomi

It’s the smallest things that set her off, the most obscure details that remind her of who was lost when Haven was attacked and buried.

This time it’s when she sets up bedrolls in a corner of the new stable, one of the only tasks she can handle with broken bones.

She lays one out for herself, for Erich, for Dane… then she reaches Jaron’s.

But he doesn’t need a bedroll. He’ll never need a bedroll again.

Because she made one more run to save the horses. He followed and didn’t come back.

She sinks to her knees and cries.

* * *

 **Flow** \- James

After the first few swings of his sword, he finds the flow of battle, the rhythm that keeps him focused, keeps him alive.

It is not just the movement of his body that flows, or the almost fluid strokes of his sword as he slices through opponents.

Blood flows, down the blade of his sword, staining his hands, running into the ground where his enemies fall. And it flows from his own wounds, however briefly, leaving rivulets of red on his skin and armor.

When he finds a reprieve he wipes away the sweat flowing down his brows, then continues.

* * *

 **Stranger** \- Naomi

She never liked strangers.

Strangers were unknowns, hiding potential dangers. They were… strange.

It took time to turn strangers into friends, build the trust she needed to truly feel comfortable with them, to know they would not hurt her.

And even then…

But now she is surrounded by strangers. And not just strange people. There was a strange language, strange foods, strange customs… all ensuring that these strangers would surely never be friends.

It makes it that much sweeter when she works through the fear, pushes through her hesitations. She opens up, trusts, and those people are strangers no more.


	3. Week Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have as much time to write this past week, and since I don't want to fall too far behind, I only have two filled prompts here.

**Blood** \- Naomi

It starts with a tell-tale cramp in her stomach.

She puts down her work, realizing with horror what the pain must mean. Had it been a month? Had she been here that long?

She glances at the other women mending, debating whether to ask them for help. But they would question why she, a grown woman, did not know how to contain her monthly flow.

Besides, she didn’t even know what words to ask.

She takes a handful of rags. In the latrine she finds blood.

She stuffs her smalls, braces for the inevitable pain, wishing desperately she was home.

* * *

**Frenzy** – Nassella

Haven is in a frenzy.

An army is approaching from the mountains, and they are trapped. There is no way for them to escape, so they run behind wooden walls. Walls that will not last.

For a moment, she is still. She does not join the rush of bodies moving past. Because she cannot run behind the walls like the others. She knows in her gut this army is here because of her, _for_ her. She has to fight. She has to stop this army from reaching these people.

Cullen is yelling and she moves, joining the frenzy, the fray.

 


	4. Week Four

**Outlandish** \- Cullen

Most days, he does not think of where she is from. She blends in, wears the right clothes, has lost most of her accent, can hold conversations as if she was born here. She does not immediately come across as different, as foreign.

But then there are times like this when he realizes just how… outlandish she really is.

“We should go camping.”

“We’re not planning a trip, we don’t need to make camp. And we could stay in taverns if we traveled.”

“No… I mean we should just… camp! Somewhere pretty.”

He stares. She is serious. “Why?”

“For fun!”

* * *

 **Fearsome** – Nassella

She never considered herself intimidating. Yes, she hunted, knew how to use blades with deadly efficiency. But that was only for the animals of the forest.

She was short, and though strong, slender, small even for an elf. No one feared her. Certainly not humans.

But now she is Inquisitor. She sits on her iron throne with an army at her back. She is called upon to pass judgement, to punish. When people come before her, they fear her.

She doesn’t like it. One chair shouldn’t have so much power. When they look up at her, afraid, she fears herself.


End file.
